


No Time for the Mountain to Breathe

by lalalyds2



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Melinda May Feels, Season 3 Finale, She didn't get any time to mourn him, This deals with after Andrew's death, established relationships - Freeform, minor philinda, mostly canon, so this is a reflection of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 10:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: When she was young, she was taught plants bend so they do not break, trees sway so they do not split, and mountains breathe so they can withstand any battering the world throws at them.Melinda May has always been an impenetrable mountain.But now, things not of this world are here, and the mountain is under attack.There is no time to breathe.  So what happens to the mountain?(AKA, this is my take on the Season 3 finale, because Melinda kept getting the breath knocked out of her and never got the time to recover)





	No Time for the Mountain to Breathe

There is no time to mourn as they make the plan.

Coulson’s looking at her, heart throbbing in his eyes, desperately sorry for asking another sacrifice from her even as he asks for one more.

And this one is a doozy.

She looks him straight in those sorry stricken eyes, and with a determined resolution she truly feels, she gives the last remaining bit of herself away.

She denies any other feelings that threaten to crash over her like a tidal wave.

_She is not the unpredictable sea, she is the mountain, and mountains do not crumble_.

With a final nod, she leaves Coulson’s office and sets to work.

Walking helps. In every step, she forces a little more ice through her veins. By the time she’s given Lincoln food, she’s an iceberg. He knows what he needs to do, is going to go with what’s in motion. That’s the easy part.

Now, comes devastation.

 

~*~*~

 

Now, walking is difficult, each step heavier till she no longer feels tied to gravity but crushed by it.

She’s walking to an execution.

She so desperately wishes that it could be hers.

In a way, it _is_.

The path isn’t long, dread can barely settle within the few steps it takes to get there. Instead, it hits her like a train. She hasn’t stopped moving this whole time, comes to a halt just outside the unit.

She can’t do this.

She will anyway.

_Be the mountain._

A gentle hand to the glass, another on the white frame, fingertips so, so light against this cage as her heart paces within it.

Time to let it out.

“Lash.”

 

~*~*~

 

“Andrew.”

It’s barely a murmur, still he hears her.

He always does.

“I need you to do something for me.”

She wets her lips, mouth dry and throat choking.

He looks at her, and she pretends it’s recognition in his gaze. She looks away.

“I need you to save her. Save Daisy. Hive’s got her, and she won’t give him up. She— "

She pauses, emotions sticking in her lungs. He takes a step closer.

It’s not comforting. But it’s enough to make her look at him again.

“I need you to bring her back to us.”

She opens the door, breath catching as he walks right in front of her, so very close.

He doesn’t touch her, she doesn’t touch back.

Only stares at him, hoping against all hope that he’s still able to read her eyes, the way he had before.

He raises a hand, her cheek practically aches in want for it against her, but it just hovers as he continues to stare.

She doesn’t understand what he’s seeing, but there’s something that passes between them, and she knows what he needs.

“Do good.”

His hand lowers. A sharp intake of breath from her.

He turns, stalks up into the Quinn-jet.

It leaves.

She never breathes out.

 

~*~*~

 

She’s there when it comes back. Only her, and a couple guards. Everyone else stayed behind, knowing whatever she sees, she needs to see by herself.

The first glimpse is Daisy, who won’t meet her eyes.

The agent is pale, deathly so, and her hands are already held open and out, welcoming the restraints the guards put on her.

She lets them take her, and then they’re gone.

There’s still someone left in the plane.

As soon as those doors close behind her, she’s at his side within an instant. Hands on his chest, fingers on the ridges of his forehead.

Even now, his face isn’t peaceful.

It isn’t anything.

She’d always known this would be the outcome, but her foolish heart had wanted something different so badly, it had forced hope onto her.

If anyone could have defeated Hive, it would have been him.

But she’s able to touch him now, and he is so cold.

He isn’t here anymore.

“You got her, Andrew. You got the girl.”

And she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, _she can’t breathe_.

 

~*~*~

 

She doesn’t visit Daisy, but she watches her from the screen.

She’s not looking much better.

Daisy is angry. Survivor’s guilt.

It seems no one can take this operation impersonally.

She wishes they would.

The emotions are suffocating.

When Coulson sends them after the warhead, it’s practically a relief.

Focusing on the mission gives her clarity, something with purpose.

When it comes to things like this, at least she knows what to do.

But then she’s paired with Lincoln, and his hope is choking.

He says what everyone refuses to look at her for, and first he calls him Lash.

It’s not meant to be cruel, but it is.

“Trying to make us feel better, find meaning in Andrew’s death, or what Daisy’s done.”

His “maybe” is so compassionate.

“Don’t do that.”

He’s seen so much, but he’s still so young. He’s still trying to make sense of the world.

She’s not.

She knows the world doesn’t make sense.

If it did, it would have to answer for all the things it’s done.

And it would have to answer to _her_.

 

~*~*~

 

For someone so clouded with regretful anguish, Daisy is not very eager to help. The mind crying out in addiction, the heart surging only with pain, she is a rage of fire and self damnation.

She wishes Coulson was here. He’s so much better at bolstering than she’s ever been.

But Daisy is her girl, and fondness still strikes hard as she watches her.

And she says what she means, what needs to be said, almost what she feels—until she’s hit over the head by a floating canister.

From then on, it’s just a flurry of fists and bruises and a death that ricochets out from space and straight into her girl’s heart.

She is helpless, and heavy, and there’s nothing to be done.

They land, and Daisy is as good as gone.

The base is a mess and Shield is in tatters, she is so tired.

There had been no time in that mayhem to process or mourn or breathe, and she is _so_ tired.

She wants to collapse in her bed and stay there until the sun implodes, but there’s work to be done. There are new accords to follow and a new director and it’s as though the earth has been pulled right out from under her feet.

Somehow, she stays upright.

_Mountains still stand when the earth quakes._

She’s not sure she’s a mountain anymore, but she’s definitely stone.

 

~*~*~

 

Three months, and so far, they’ve only caught a few glimpses of Daisy.

Their director doesn’t understand the manhunt, tries to keep them all separate and distracted, but it’s like trying to cut water. Useless. The water keeps coming back.

Coulson keeps coming back to her.

His flights near her are few and far between, but she always gets his alerts, and always goes to meet him, even when it’s three in the morning and she has to be up in a couple hours.

It’s worth it.

He’s the only thing she’s got left, the only one she wants to keep.

He’s not here often.

She gets an alert late in the night.

_Landing soon._

Coordinates?

_No need. I’m coming to you._

She can’t smile when she sees him again, but he knows she’s glad he’s back, even for this instant.

“Seen her?”

She won’t poke a sore spot, but she really needs to know. He nods.

“She’s wearing a lot of leather now. And black.”

“Copycat.”

“And chokers with studs.”

“I was never really into goth.”

He smiles, and it hurts, but it’s slightly good. He studies her.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

She shrugs, and he knows what she means. They turn together, head towards her bunk. She makes room for him, but he only sits in a chair.

At her lifted brow, his gaze softens.

“You won’t rest with someone sleeping vulnerable next to you.”

She opens her mouth to argue, his hand on her shoulder stops her.

“I sleep in the air, where I know no one can get to me. You don’t have that. Let me give it to you.”

She shouldn’t, but she does.

 

~*~*~

 

_A sunset. A click of a phone camera. Laughter. A hand that had dwarfed hers but folded so sweetly between her fingers. Bodies warming. A smooth, dark brow._

When her eyes open, it’s so black, she can’t tell where she’s been. Remnants of dream stick to reality.

“Melinda.”

Not truly awake, she misplaces the voice.

“Andrew?”

The moment the name slips off her tongue, she is wide awake and gasping.

The night had been so relaxed, she’d been so calm, everything she’d been keeping at bay hit her with every force of nature.

_The mountain can indeed crumble._

Hands touch her shoulders as she struggles to inhale.

Deaf to the worried soothes he must be making, she claws at her throat, and then at him.

_I can’t breathe. Phil, I can’t breathe._

She can’t even get the words out.

He takes her hands in his, puts them to his heart, then puts his against the rabbit trying to jump out from her chest.

“Feel my heartbeat, May. Match it.”

He describes the rhythm in calm, collected gentle, and she feels the pulsing in her fingers.

She stops trying to breathe, and focuses on him.

It takes what feels like forever.

Every thing she thinks about leads back to Andrew and Daisy and Lincoln and even Ward and she can. _not_. **_breathe_**.

And every time, Phil brings her back. A hand against her cheek, grounding her to that focal point of his warmth against her face and her fingertips.

He doesn’t let her go after her lungs have slowed and her heart beats in tandem with his.

He doesn’t ask her to talk, he doesn’t say anything.

Her hands release their death grip on his chest, frowning as she realizes how her nails had dug in. He just grips her hands with the one not on her face and guides them back to him. As she clutches his shirt collar tightly, she knows she still needs this.

He sighs quietly, and she knows it’s encouragement.

He doesn’t move to embrace her, or hold her more tightly, just keeps her anchored.

She can’t close her eyes, is only now feeling the tense immobilization start to drain from her limbs.

She doesn’t sag, or relax in the slightest, but he notices and smiles.

She continues to stare at him.

He stares back.

All too soon, the moment is broken, and she must return back to earth as he must the skies.

But their moment of something between still lingers, and she finds it’s easier to force herself to breath.

It still doesn’t feel quite natural. 

 

~*~*~

 

Three more months, more alerts, more false leads, but this time there’s something different, she can feel it.

She’s not usually one to hold much stock in those, but there’s a change coming.

She’s ready for it now.

When Coulson and Mack come back to base, she’s able to greet them with a smile.

Well, almost.

It’s enough.

When Coulson comes to her later in the night, tea and coffee in hand and a question in his eyes, she’s able to answer.

“I’m still breathing.”

It’s easier. 

And his grin is a good without any hurt at all.

_Mountains can be built back up again._

**Author's Note:**

> I've appreciated so many lovely stories in this fandom, I was overcome with the desire to write something too!  
> This is my first story for this fandom, I hope it was worth your time.  
> Comments would be greatly appreciated!  
> I can be found on tumblr as lalalyds2  
> Thank you for reading! :)


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